


Only Time Will Alter Your Vision

by Memories_of_the_Shadows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Dragon Age Headcanons, Fenris Is A Troll, Frank Discussion of Slavery, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Male-Female Friendship, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), POV Third Person Limited, Short One Shot, Slavery, Team as Family, Templar Carver Hawke, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memories_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Memories_of_the_Shadows
Summary: With the ease of years--every slave knew the trick of listening without appearing to do so, they learned, they died, orworse--Fenris tunes into the hushed argument just in time to hear the Knight-Captain hiss, “--this is serious Hawke, I’m telling you not to bringhimto the Gallows anymore!  Ser Albis--” and isn’t it intriguing how that name makes the mage go the color of the cheese Fenris has still locked in his storeroom just waiting forDanariusto try to choke down and hopefully get a spot of food poisoning if he manages to regain the mansion, probably over Fenris’ dead body, “--has just transferred here from Kinloch!”





	Only Time Will Alter Your Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Welcome To The Family” by Avenged Sevenfold; which, in addition to being by one of my all time favorite bands, is also kind of perfect for the tragic found family vibe that I always get from DAII.
> 
> I do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, especially any with ad revenue and subscription services, or any website other than ao3 unless I personally cross-posted a work.

Fenris is just _waiting_ , breath held behind his gritted teeth for the mage’s inevitable blow up--inevitable even here in the middle of the Gallows, the abomination has no sense of self-preservation--when the mage stills, his head cocked just slightly towards where their leader is arguing with the Templar Knight-Captain. If Fenris hadn’t been watching him so carefully, he might have missed it, it was so subtle.

How curious.

With the ease of years--every slave knew the trick of listening without appearing to do so, they learned, they died, or _worse_ \--Fenris tunes into the hushed argument just in time to hear the Knight-Captain hiss, “--this is serious Hawke, I’m telling you not to bring _him_ to the Gallows anymore! Ser Albis--” and isn’t it intriguing how that name makes the mage go the color of the cheese Fenris has still locked in his storeroom just waiting for _Danarius_ to try to choke down and hopefully get a spot of food poisoning if he manages to regain the mansion, probably over Fenris’ dead body, “--has just transferred here from Kinloch!”

“Wait,” Hawke says back and she sounds just the slightest bit shocked, “you know who Anders is?”

Knight-Captain Cullen’s face is not one the Fenris is accustomed to seeing as anything but nervous but the brief pause even _sounds_ disdainful and if he tries he can imagine Aveline’s disgusted expression on Cullen’s face. It takes all his effort not to laugh out loud or show anything on his face. Anders’ knuckles turn white on his staff. “Yes. I know Anders.” Cullen’s voice is everything Fenris could have hoped for, so dry and as snobbish as a Ferelden can get (which is not all that much but some of them try harder than others), he lets out a quickly stifled huff that makes Isabela glance at him curiously. “And _so does Ser Albis_.”

“If you know what Anders is do you know what _I_ am?” Hawke’s voice squeaks with panic and Fenris thinks she’s missing the point but shifts just enough to have a better reach for his sword. He’ll fight them out if need be. Hawke may be a mage, but she saved him once and he will return the favor no matter how much they may disagree on a few key points.

Isabela’s picked up on the tension--though she seems more concerned with the way the mage is swaying in the wind than her lover, so perhaps he can learn more from her later--and she has a looseness to her stance that he only sees when she’s preparing for battle. Serious then. Hopefully when-- _if_ , there’s no sign yet that Cullen is preparing to take Hawke--a battle comes the abomination will wake up a little because Fenris cannot protect both Hawke and Anders at the same time. Not that he wants to protect the _mage_. Just… Hawke would be upset. 

(And he _may_ respect the mage just the smallest bit for his clinic, something no magister has ever done in his recollection. That’s not to say Fenris doesn’t keep trying to work out a selfish reason for living in Darktown and giving free healing to those who can’t afford it but the damnable abomination seems to block those lines of thought at every turn.)

“I have my orders regarding the both of you, Messere Hawke,” the Knight-Captain says stiffly, and well, that is not very comforting. Anders’ nails look blood red against the bone white of his fingers. It makes him look too human and at the same time too much like a corpse.

“Me-Meredith knows!” Hawke’s voice is just a shade too shrill to go completely unnoticed. Fenris would almost like to grab her and stuff a sock in her mouth but from what Isabela keeps telling him when they’re drunk she might actually like that more than he’s comfortable with. Luckily Carver trips over _nothing_ where he’s skulking behind a pillar and the resulting crash of armor drowns out Hawke’s voice.

“Hawke,” Cullen says, that familiar nervousness tingeing his voice now, “please calm down, she thinks you’re both more useful outside of the Circle, she doesn’t know anything except that Anders runs a clinic and you help people out, please keep your voice down…”

Fenris relaxes and so does Isabela. Neither of them have met Knight-Commander Meredith but it is hard to live in Kirkwall and not hear of her ruthless pragmatism. Anders looks five seconds from either fleeing or calling a lightning storm down on the whole lot of them, but Fenris supposes a mage might have a different opinion on a Templar Commander no matter how necessary the Circles are for most of their kind.

(He’s been talked down from the idea of Circles for all, though he’ll catch his death before he’ll admit such to Anders. Leaving the useful ones, the ones who give and do no harm like Anders and Hawke, seems an acceptable compromise even though Fenris could do with a bit more supervision from Meredith in this case. Merrill, no matter how sweet she seems, clearly cannot be trusted to be outside one, but Fenris won’t be the one to turn her in. With his luck he’d end up shadowing Hawke on a rescue party while the abomination sniped at him irritably.)

Isabela puts a hand on the mage’s feathery pauldrons. It seems to shatter him, and Fenris tries his best to pretend that he’s not watching them, eyes pointed more towards Carver trying to pretend he’s not eavesdropping on his sister. Failing miserably, but still stubbornly trying. Anders looks broken in a familiar way, but it’s not an expression he’s seen in Kirkwall really.

No, Minrathous would be a more proper setting for such an expression in Fenris’ experience.

“So he’s…?” Isabela asks, quietly. It doesn’t suit her, in Fenris’ opinion, even though he’s heard her be that quiet and serious before. Mostly when they’re both blind drunk and too honest by half.

“How I escaped on the road to Ostagar.” The mage sounds more fine than he looks, but that is nothing special. Most mages take voice classes, many spells depend on it. Danarius had had a pleasant singing voice when he deigned to share it even if the thought of listening to someone sing now makes him want to rip out throats instead of hearts.

“Ah. Payment then.” Frustratingly vague, and too light for her obvious concern, but Fenris suspects Isabela is not quite as fooled by his careful inattention as the mage is.

“I said yes, Isabela,” he says, voice firm even though his staff is clicking on the stone ground enough that his body must be shaking even more than the wood. “I said _yes_ ,” he repeats, like he’s trying to convince someone.

Who, Fenris wonders, Isabela or himself?

“I know, love, I know.” Fenris sees her pull Anders into a one-armed hug and decides that discretion is the better part of valor. Calming Hawke down after a scare like that from the _Knight-Captain_ \--probably a more prestigious position here in the south than it ever was in Tevinter--sounds preferable to trying not to set Anders off any day.

Still, he can’t help but hear Isabela pet the mage, saying softly, “sometimes those yeses still feel like noes, love, it’s okay.”

Fenris really doesn’t want to think about how true that is--pushes away a memory of a Danarius that he would have and did do _anything_ for--and snarks at Hawke, “weren’t you wearing a robe and carrying a staff when we met the Knight-Captain?”

“It’s a _fashion statement_ ,” she wails, and Fenris hears a snort from behind them. (It’s gratifying to think it might be Anders and he doesn’t know why. He’s not going to think about it.) Carver tries to run--well, walk quickly and purposefully like he wasn’t doing a poor job of hiding behind a pillar--away and manages to walk straight into Cullen, much to Fenris’ sadistic glee.

Even though he knows things now he wishes he didn’t, even though it will take _weeks_ to calm Hawke down and get her back to the Gallows, and even though he will certainly hear about his invasion of Anders’ privacy from Isabela, there’s Wicked Grace tonight.

This is what he thinks having friends feels like. Through the rough times and the good. Maybe he doesn’t have to agree with Anders on anything. Maybe just being there is enough sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a headcanon I developed for another longer fic that I am still working on but didn’t fit in anywhere. Honestly, this is _the_ headcanon concerning Anders for me. We all know Anders says nothing happened to him, that he was lucky. I think he’s bending the truth a little bit. I think there was at least one time where he was coerced in some way but doesn’t think of it, or doesn’t want to, as rape. Isabela has canonical experience with this type of situation so I thought she would relate to Anders the best in this. Plus I love the idea of them as friends.
> 
> This can either be read as a gen friendship fic, or a pre-Fenders fic because I am a legitimate sucker for that pairing. (Also Isabela is romanced by my fem!Hawke for this universe but it doesn’t really come up.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading and I hope everyone is taking care of themselves and their needs. You can visit me at my [Tumblr](https://sachinighte.tumblr.com/) if you’d like!


End file.
